Frostbite
by AmazonAuthor
Summary: How long had it been? A week? Two? For the first few days, he called and called, trying to get me to answer the phone. I ignored the ringing. Eventually, it just stopped.
1. Frost

Part One: **Frost**

* * *

 **Simon**

The flat isn't the same without Penelope. It feels lonely; colder even, or that could just be me. She left a few hours ago to visit Micah and his family in Chicago. She had been planning it for weeks, running room to room, gathering all her things. She spent the whole morning packing.

"Simon, which one do you think? Yellow or red? Simon? Are you listening to me?"

I glanced over to the doorway. Penny was standing there with two scarves; same print, same length. Did the colors really matter that much? She would look good in either; her hair now a prominent orange. She wore a light purple sweater, tucked neatly into her red skirt. Her socks were a wild pair, too many colors to necessarily count.

I shrugged. "Just take both."

Penelope furrowed her eyebrows as if my suggestion was preposterous. "I won't need two though. It'd be a waste of space in my luggage."

"Is it even snowing there?"

"Micah said it probably would."

"Then two will keep you extra warm." I said.

She sighed, then broke into a smile. "You do have a point there."

I smiled back and turned my attention to the window. It was snowing furiously. According to Penny, it was supposed to be the worst blizzard since 1991.

"At least twenty-six centimeters are supposed to hit London. I'm glad I won't be here to see it."

I felt her sit down beside me. She shifted herself closer and laid her head on my shoulder. "You're welcome to come with Simon. The invitation was extended to you as well."

I rolled the thought over in my mind again. It was a fun prospect; spending the holidays in America. However, I didn't want to intrude. Penelope rarely got to visit Micah. My presence would serve as a bit of nuisance if they wanted to…do that.

I nudged her with my arm. "I'll be alright here. You and Micah need some alone time anyways."

Penelope blushed and shot me an awful glare. It looked very funny with her glasses. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.

"Just _what_ are you insinuating, Simon?"

"Nothing, nothing at all!"

"Simon," she began. "Are you sure you'll be fine? I know things have been difficult, since, everything with Baz…"

The laughter is gone.

How long had it been? A week? Two? For the first few days, he called and called, trying to get me to answer the phone. I ignored the ringing. Eventually, it just stopped.

Penny put her hand on my arm, urging me to look at her.

"It was just a spat Simon."

"A spat? Penelope."

She crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt against her skin. "Simon, I'm not taking up for him, but I think you both need to talk about this. It's just a big misunderstanding."

"And what am I supposed to say? I forgive you for dragging my coworker across the table and nearly killing him?"

"He is the jealous type."

"What right did he have? He told me that he didn't have the time for me. Conall invited me out for drinks. Did he think I was trying to spite him?"

"It is possible."

I lay my head back against the sofa and close my eyes. All I see is Baz. I miss him. I miss him so much I think I'm going crazy. It feels like our last year of Watford all over again, him missing for weeks, me, slowly deteriorating without him. Only this time, he hasn't been kidnapped by numpties and it's too snowy to go out and search for him in London.

"Crowley," I whisper.

"What was that?" Penny was back at it with the scarves.

"Nothing, Penny." I mumble. "Take the red one."

She ended up taking the yellow scarf. I sit at the table and stare out the window. I swish my fork around on my plate, mixing all the food together like a toddler. I have no appetite lately. Penny was scared silly because I was hardly touching my food. It's hard to eat with a lot on your mind. Putting a lot of food in your stomach doesn't seem to help. It's like I'm trying to fill this dead spot in the pit of my body. I watch the snow fall. It's coming fast, whipping past the buildings outside. I can barely see across the street. Everything is covered in a thick blanket of it, sort of sparkling like a big constellation. I stand up and discard the rest of my meal in the trash.

I think about Baz. He'd always saunter around the kitchen, lean against the counter with a wicked grin on his face.

"How many are you planning to eat?" He asked one day during breakfast.

I looked at him, meeting his grey eyes with my own blue ones. He wasn't as pale as he usually was that day. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his mouth formed into a small smirk. I picked up another scone and took a bite.

"As many as I want."

Baz slid his hand across the table and plucked it from my hand, taking a bite himself. His cheeks poked out, fangs protruding through his gums. His face was fuller, cute.

"I don't know how you eat so many of these. They're honestly nothing special."

He handed the scone back to me. His hand lingered above mine for an extended amount of time. I gripped his wrist and brought the pastry to my mouth. Baz immediately tried to retract his hand.

He spoke through gritted teeth. " _What_ are you doing Snow?"

I smiled at him as I took slow, lingering bites.

"Just enjoying your service, Basilton."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. You're worse than my siblings."

"Am I?"

" _Snow_."

" _Baz_ ," I retorted jokingly.

The scone was gone, but I didn't want to let go. I leaned into his hand and placed a kiss on his palm. It was cold, like catching snowflakes on your lips. He cradled my face.

The thought of him, here in the kitchen with me, is unsettling. I dispel the memory and lean against the wall for support.

Hot water would help. A shower might drown out the thoughts.

 **Baz**

I sip my tea and stare at the box. Daphne certainly outdid herself. She _really_ didn't have to. The box is almost too perfect, wrapped up in a large silver ribbon.

Fucking Snow.

Wouldn't that be nice?

But, fucking Simon Snow and his nerve. Honestly, who does he think he is? Not answering my phone calls, that arse.

I stare into my cup. How long has it been since I've talked to him? Oh yes, twelve days exactly. I'm so pathetic for even counting.

He's in the wrong. I said some harmful things, I admit. I meant to apologize at dinner that night, until he blew me off for some bloke named Conall. What kind of fucking name is that? The name of Snow's coworker, or so he says.

I wasn't thinking that day, or I was thinking too much.

Why am I still angry about this?

Simon fucking Snow.

I grab my coat, the box, and head for the door. He must be home.

Why is it snowing so much?

 **Simon**

The water drips down my face, sliding from my cheeks all the way down to my neck. It's hot but tolerable. I wash myself slowly, taking much longer than I really should. What else was there for me to do? I usually spend the day staring at walls, and when that became undesirable, I'd paced. I'd lay one hand on the phone, then remove it like I burnt myself, and repeat. I want to call him.

The stream of water begins to sputter, spitting drops down my back.

I turn the water off and reach for a towel. It's cool when I step out of the shower, almost familiar. Baz's touch was cool, collected. He never rushed. He took his time, as if we had all the time in the world. Where did that time go?

I dry myself and tug on a pair of trackies. I'm still warm from the shower so I decide against a shirt. I consider cracking open a window but then I remember the snow. The outside is opaque, unrecognizable. Perhaps it is going to be a terrible blizzard.

I go to the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. It's going to be a long night, but every night has been a long night since Penny left. The loneliness is starting to get to me. I should've went with her, maybe the trip would have put my mind at ease. I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

 **Baz**

The snow is seeping through my coat. This was a bad idea, a huge fucking mistake. I continue trudging through it, muttering a small fire spell to keep myself warm. Simon Snow is always hot (physically, of course) but his complaints about heat never ended. I'm sure he's standing in front of an open window at this very moment, tawny skin flushed amber from the cool air.

His flat is only a few meters away. I can barely see the sidewalk. Aleister Crowley, me and my charmed life.

I tuck the gift further under my arm.

When I get my hands on him, he'll be begging for me to kill him.

 **Simon**

At first, I didn't hear the knock at the door. But then it turned into a persistent rap, and then harsh banging. I hurried to it and peered out the hole. My heart dropped to my feet.

I slid the chain and opened the door. There he was.

Baz, dripping wet, with white snowflakes in his hair. He almost looks like an angel, a very unhappy one. It was hard for me not to break into a smile. He pushes past me into the flat, dropping a box on the table. Part of me wants to tackle him, kiss him, but the other half wants to punch him. I clench my fists. Baz turns to me but quickly glances away.

"For fuck's sake Snow, could you please put on a shirt?"

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part Two: _Freeze_ will come shortly. Hope you've been snowbazzled!


	2. Freeze

Part 2: _Freeze_

* * *

 **Baz**

"You're wet." He says, stunned.

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. "Thank you for being _so_ attentive, Snow. You know, you really out do yourself sometimes."

He folds him arms across his chest, not amused by my jab. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd deliver your gift. It would look much better on you than hanging in my room. There's your hint, since I know you're going to ask for one."

Snow opens his mouth and I wait for a bluster, a giant storm of words to erupt out of him. Instead, he says nothing and eyes the box on the table.

My prediction is correct. I knew it would be. Snow is the most predictable git I know, and a damn beautiful one at that. He stands there gawking at it, mouth slightly parted so he can release those little gasps of his. I want nothing more than to close the distance, take his mouth into mine and forget all this nonsense that went on. However, I am frozen. Snow stands there, shirtless. It's the ultimate taboo; each and every mole is visible (well, the ones I've seen before). The desire to touch him is unreal, but I can't move. I curse at him instead.

"Are you going to put on a fucking shirt?"

His eyes grow wide like a puppy's and he nods obediently, disappearing out of the kitchen. I relinquish the burden of my wet coat and scarf. My jumper is drenched. It sticks to me like paste and I pull on the fabric, attempting to peel it off my skin. It comes off, after much of a fight. I walk into the living room and light the fireplace. No shirt, no fire, what the hell is he thinking? Has he even bothered to look out the window? I glance towards them myself and take note of how hard the snow is coming down.

And the fact that I'm not going to make it back to my car.

 **Simon**

I quickly try to pull on a blue shirt. First, I put it on backwards. Then, my second attempt is foiled when I put my arm where my head should go. Eventually, after several other tries, it slides on with no trouble at all. Baz always yells at me for walking around shirtless; I suppose he's very big on propriety or something. I never understood it; not the propriety thing, but the fact that he makes me so nervous I can hardly dress myself. I want answers. Is he here to talk about…that? What's in that box? Did he not realize it was snowing?

Did he want to see me _that_ bad?

I rush to the bathroom and give myself a once over. I growl at my appearance. My face is red. My hair is hardly tamable, but I brush my fingers through it anyways.

Baz is sitting in the living room. He looks as though he is carved out of stone; he sits so still you can barely tell he's alive. But he is; I can see his chest moving in a slow, graceful rhythm. His shirt is damp, plastered to his chest. Did he forget to do the top buttons…or did he leave them open on purpose? I have to keep reminding myself to breathe.

"I made some tea."

The sentence comes out in a jumble. I feel awkward, like a little one learning how to use their legs for the first time. He smirks at me. How does he always stay so composed? I'm falling apart at the seams…

 **Baz**

Snow is a mess. But then again, so am I. However, I can sweep my instability under the rug. Simon Snow leaves his laying out in the open for you to trip on.

"Pour me a cup, if you don't mind."

My voice is shaky, but I don't think he catches it.

Snow leaves me in the living room, so I spread my arms along the back of the sofa, trying to stay relaxed. In my mind, this was easier. Everything is so damn awkward. For a moment, I feel that I've brought this on myself. It is _half_ my fault. He'll expect me to take full responsibility. And, strangely enough, I think I will…for him. In order for us to reach compromise, you have to be willing to bear the weight of any problem. Love has a way of making one sacrifice their pride.

It's disgustingly true.

He returns quicker than I expect him to, cup and saucer in each hand. Snow walks with his head down, eyes locked in a romantic gaze with the floor. He has a knack for tripping over that tail of his. My heart feels warm and it hurts. I want him to know how sorry I am.

I just don't know how to say it.

 **Simon**

I'm not fond of my wings and tail, but I'm growing used to them. I trip constantly. I've had more intimate moments with the floor than I have with Baz. I blush at the thought. Apart from stolen kisses here and there, we've never fully experienced each other. I sit down on the opposite end of the sofa, keeping my distance. Now isn't the time. I'm worried that a time may never come.

I lean over and sit the cup in front of him, avoiding eye contact. I don't know what to say or where to begin.

"Are you afraid I'm going to bite you?" Baz says.

I glance at the space between us.

"N-No. I'm not."

"Then why are you sitting all the way over there?"

I shrug.

"For the love of God, Snow." He mutters.

He slides down the sofa. Baz is elegant and brisk, bringing his cup with him. I envy him for being so put together. He's never rash or chaotic, logic and sensibility come naturally to him. I pick up my tea and take a nervous sip.

"I suppose we need to talk about our little incident."

I nearly choke on my tea. "Incident? Is that what you're calling it?"

Baz narrows his eyes at me. "Would you prefer me to call it something else?"

"Well, it was _entirely_ something else."

"Tell me what it was then, Snow, if you can manage to do so _withou_ t the stuttering."

I feel the heat rise up in my veins. It's too late for me to bite my tongue. "I suppose it was you being jealous."

"Oh, now you're flattering yourself. I was not jealous."

"You also said you _weren't_ a vampire." I reply smugly.

He sits his cup down on the table, hard.

"Penelope would be awfully upset if you broke her cup."

Baz glares at me. "Suppose I was _jealous_ ; I think I had every right to be. You canceled our dinner to go drinking with another man."

"My _coworker_. Do you forget what you said to me that morning? I think it was along the lines of, "Oh, I don't think I'm going to have time for that today." Correct me if I'm wrong Baz, but I do believe you said that."

"I will correct you. I said, "Simon, I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it to dinner, but I will let you _know_. Your memory fails you once again, I see."

"Just like you failed to let make me aware of the fact that you weren't going to show up." I stand, unable to bear his gaze any longer. It's swifter than any knife. It pierces me mercilessly. "I waited and waited for you Baz."

He stands his ground as well, squaring his shoulders and looking down at me. "And your good friend Conall just happened to be free? What a sad bloke to have no plans on the weekend."

"What a pathetic bloke to blow off his boyfriend for…I'm sorry. What were you doing, Basilton? Did you have a meeting with someone as well?"

He doesn't reply. My temper rises and so does my voice. I feel tears gather in my eyes.

No, he wouldn't do that to me. Would he?

"Is that it, Baz? Is that why you've been skipping dinner and putting me off like I'm some chore? There's someone else, isn't there?"

Baz looks at me as if I've punched him in the stomach. "Is that what you think, Snow?"

"What?"

" _Is that what you really think_?" His voice is harsh and every word stabs me in the chest. I don't know what to think. We stare at each other for a long time, drowning in the silence that surrounds us. Baz shakes his head.

"I was shopping for your gift."

"You were what?"

"Shopping," he says indifferently. "It's our first Christmas together and I wanted it to be perfect. I guess it's too late for that now."

 **Baz**

I leave him standing in the living room.

I have to get out of here.

I grab my coat and wrap on my scarf. They're both still wet but I don't give a shit.

I hear Snow's feet clambering behind me.

 **Simon**

"Baz, wait."

He ignores me and continues heading for the door.

"Baz, _please_."

"Fuck. Off."

"It's a blizzard out there."

"I'll take my chances."

I grip the back of his shirt, desperately. My hands cling to him as if he's all I have left. I bury my face into his wet shirt. I don't want him to leave, ever.

"I'm sorry." I mutter into his back.

He freezes. I can hear him breathing.

"Simon."


	3. Melt

Part 3: Melt

* * *

 **Baz**

"I'm sorry for accusing you."

 _Simon_.

"I said so many things I didn't mean."

 _Simon Snow._

"When it comes to you, I lose my mind."

 _What are you doing to me?_

"I jump to conclusions that couldn't possibly exist. I'm dumb, but I know for sure that I do these things because I love you."

 _Shit._

"I just don't want you to be angry with me."

I feel him. This time, it's different. It's not like when he used me as a vessel for his magic, or when he would playfully touch my hand while Penny's back was turned. No, this is something entirely different. The feeling is almost desperate, longing, and it clings to my chest; suffocating. It happens so quickly. The wall and the floor blur together, and he's in my arms. I'm holding him—no, he's holding me. Snow, why are you always so fucking warm?

It takes everything in me not to cry.

But I do anyways.

 **Simon**

"Baz," I whisper in his ear.

"I know Simon, you're sorry. I'm sorry too."

I think he's crying. I can't see his face; it's buried into my shirt. I hold him as if he's going to melt out of my arms. My fingers comb through his hair, my small attempt at comforting him. It's soft and wet. I smile.

He called me Simon.

 **Baz**

When it comes to him, I'm weak. I know it's futile to resist it, stupid not to admit it. I look at him. His eyes are red and blue, a set of primary colors that just make my heart explode. Sometimes I think the moles on his face were placed purposely. They're perfect, as if an artist meticulously painted them under his eye and along his jaw. I think I could spend an entire day just kissing his skin.

I just want to kiss him now.

More than ever.

Snow is eyeing my lips. He glances up to me, as if to ask for permission. Idiot.

You don't ever have to ask.

 **Simon**

I crash into him unforgivably. I hear him hit the door, but I can't stop. My hands grasp his throat hungrily. My lips discover his all over again. They're cool, like sucking on an ice cube after you've finished your soda. Soft, inviting, it is incredibly hard for me to pull away. Kissing Baz is like putting together a puzzle, we just seem to fit together. His nails dig into my waist, pulling my entire body against him. It's hot in here. I have to pull back for a moment and breathe.

"Having a hard time keeping up?" Baz smirks.

I stare at him, nose to nose, blue to gray. He's not crying anymore, and neither am I. His hands move up my shirt and I flinch at how cold his hands are.

"I don't think I'm going to make it back to my car." He whispers into my ear.

They graze my skin; hands and lips moving at the same, agonizing tempo. I'm growling. I don't believe it's possible for us to get any closer.

He takes off my shirt.

 **Baz**

In my spare time, I'll have to construct a map of Simon Snow's body. I wish I had it memorized, but there's still so many places I haven't explored—conquered.

Imperialism at its finest, must be an ancestral quirk.

It's tempting, the thought of laying him on the floor and just connecting all the freckles that are splattered across his shoulders. I can't keep my mouth off of him. A week without Snow.

What a terrible winter it's been.

I push against him, coaxing him down the hall. My fingers get tangled in his curls. They're a trap, but I'm the one that fell into it and of course, refused to leave. He moans into my mouth and I have to resist the urge to smile. It's a small victory. After bumping walls and knocking doors, I get him into the door frame of his bedroom. I hold his face in my grasp and trace his cheeks with my thumbs. He's too perfect for words, so I keep silent and just absorb him—rosy lips, flushed cheeks, and every golden eyelash. He languidly bats them as if he's had too much to drink. I haven't had enough.

Of him.

 **Simon**

I sit on the mattress and watch him. He stands at the end of the bed, pulling loose buttons one by one. He makes each motion agonizingly slow. I don't understand why he gets such a thrill from teasing me. Why not just get to it? When he gets to the third one, I find myself ripping it open for him, brushing the cool skin underneath. He's flawless, from collarbone to navel. No scars, no moles, or even freckles. Baz is a clean slate, a new beginning, a blank page.

"Don't get too giddy Snow," he spats.

I pull at the fabric, becoming frustrated. My cheeks heat up at the sound of his voice. He always makes me feel naive and childish; but I can't control my curiosity. My hands drift up to his throat, igniting every piece of skin on their journey there. His breathing changes.

"How does that feel?" I whisper.

Baz avoids my gaze, locking eyes with the floor. He turns the lightest shade of pink and it's reassuring; he's nervous too. I slip the shirt off of his shoulders and it falls like the snow outside. I glide my fingers over his shoulders, traveling down his bare arms and finding his hands. They grip mine hard. His eyes are searching mine. What is he looking for? I wish he would just tell me.

"You're the only one, Simon."

He brings my hands to his mouth and kisses them.

"The only one I want."

I lean into him.

"The only one I need," He mutters against my mouth.

His body finds the mattress before mine.

 **Baz**

His breath is on my neck, and then my shoulder. A kiss on my chest, and then my stomach. He doesn't stop.

 **Simon**

I can't stop. I feel like I'm intoxicated. There must be something in his skin. I hear curse under his breath. I took the words right out of his mouth, literally.

 **Baz**

 _Fuck_.

 **Simon**

 _Aleister_.

 **Baz**

 _Crowley_.

 **Simon**

I find his face in the light that comes through the windows. Baz is an untouchable kind of beautiful; but here I am with him in my arms. I don't know how this happened, but then again, no one knows how the Earth came to be either. It just sort of appeared. I'm not going to question it.

Just appreciate it.

 **Baz**

Simon won't let go of me.

I don't really mind.

He's so warm, and I crave it.

 **Simon**

I watch Baz sleep. He breathes through his nose and sometimes his eyes twitch as if he's trying to blink. He doesn't toss and turn, but sleeps very still, sort of like how he sits. He's statuesque; a marvel that isn't carved out of stone. I brush back his bangs and lazily drag my hand down his jaw. I've missed him.

I get out of bed to go to the bathroom. I stop in the living room and watch the snow again. It's stopped completely, no more flurries, just a soft blanket covering everything. In the kitchen, I find Baz's gift. It's wrapped so precisely that it almost scares me to open it. I pull on the ribbon anyways; conquering my fear of the little box. I strip it of its paper. I peel off the lid and find an envelope adorned with his handwriting.

 _Simon._

I flip it over and tear it open. The card is simple, silver and covered in snowflakes. I open it and am greeted once again with his words.

 _Merry Christmas, Simon Snow. Hopefully this will keep you warm because I can't._

 _Love,_

 _Baz_

I remove the paper and find a scarf. I gently take it in my hands, as if it's actually breakable. When I wrap it around my neck, I feel how soft it is. Genuine. And it's mine. From Baz.

I don't understand why he says he can't keep me warm. Every time he touches me, a fire grows inside my chest. I don't want it to ever stop.

I love him too much.

* * *

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this story! I'll be coming out with a new AU Snowbaz fic very soon. I listened to Make it Holy by The Staves while writing this finale. Give it a listen! :)


End file.
